


to wild homes we return to

by yerbamansa



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Meet the Family, Patrick Brewer's family, Returning Home, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yerbamansa/pseuds/yerbamansa
Summary: On their first visit to Patrick’s hometown, David has a lot of anxieties.





	to wild homes we return to

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the New Pornographers song, “To Wild Homes,” which doesn’t have anything to do with anything except I like the song and...they’re Canadian? *shrug*

“Umm, hi, going somewhere?”

David looked up from carefully folding a sweater to meet Alexis’s questioning eyes.

“If you must know, yes.” He tucked the sweater into a half-packed, monochromatic suitcase and smiled.

“Oooh, is Patrick whisking you off on a romantic weekend, or, like, some kind of sex adventure trek?”

That earned her an eyebrow arch. David pursed his lips. “No one’s asked me to go on a ‘sex adventure trek’ since that chance encounter with Ricky Martin on Playa Flamenco, and I’m pretty sure he was joking.”

Alexis reacted with an appropriate shudder. “You poor thing.”

“Patrick owes his parents a visit, and he’s asked me to come along.”

“Ohh? A little family visit?”

“Yes.” David nodded unconvincingly. His first meeting with the Brewers had gone… well enough, he thought. But not great. He knew he had to make an effort, because he was _in this_.

“Did you have to apologize to his dad?”

David was getting flustered. “I can’t fucking believe I told you about that.”

Alexis gave him a look of sisterly concern. “If you can’t tell your sister when you send a dirty text to your boyfriend’s dad by mistake, who _can_ you tell?”

_Stevie_ , he thought. _Stevie would have been a better choice. Or NO ONE_. “Um. Anyway, it’s fine now.”

“You sure?”

“Patrick has assured me it won’t come up again.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to convince himself that was true while reliving the mortification.

“OK. Cool! Well, in that case, you should probably know something else…” Alexis sat down next to David on the bed and pulled out her phone.

“Oh, god, you don’t have a screenshot, do you?”

“Stop. No, look.” Alexis brought Instagram up and scrolled through her feed, stopping on a familiar, beaming redhead.

“You follow _Rachel_?” David accused.

“I follow _hundreds_ of people, David. And I thought it might help if _someone_ kept an eye on her. Anyway, look.” She gestured firmly at the screen, carefully avoiding an accidental double tap.

David examined the photo. Rachel’s smiling face, eyes closed with joy. Left hand extended. Sparkling dot on her ring finger, just out of focus. “Ohhh,” he uttered.

“Mmhmm. So from what I can glean, they’re having an engagement party this weekend.”

“In Patrick’s hometown?”

“Well, yes, she still lives there.”

“And why, pray tell, are you telling me this? I doubt Patrick was invited.”

Alexis laughed. “Oh my god, can you imagine? No. I just thought you should know, in case, like, you guys are out and about, and Patrick seems particularly, like, I don’t know, conflicted.” She folded her hands together near her clavicle and gritted her teeth dramatically.

“Great. Thanks for that, Alexis. Can I finish packing now?”

“Umm, OK. Have a great trip, David!”

David waved her off with a grimace and got back to folding.

* * *

Patrick placed a hand on David’s thigh as they drove down the highway. “You know I love you, right?” he said, as though broaching a difficult subject.

“Uh-huh. _I’m in heaven, with my boyfriend!_ ” David continued singing. “What’s up?”

“I think I’ve had enough Mariah Carey for one drive.”

David gasped. “What are you even _saying_?”

“I just need a little variety, David!”

“We’ve already been over this! With Ken!”

“I can’t believe you remember his name, and you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I’m _never_ going to forget Ken with the squared-off toes. And _fine_. What did you have in mind?” David grabbed his phone and started scrolling through the options.

“Look up a playlist called Power Ballads of Love.”

“You did _not_.”

“Let’s just say I was inspired.”

“Does this have what I think it has?”

“Put it on.” Patrick smiled knowingly as the opening beats of “(Simply) The Best” came through the car stereo.

David squeezed Patrick’s hand and flashed a giddy smile. “I’m never getting sick of this.”

“That’s the idea,” Patrick said, glancing away from the road just long enough to appreciate David’s face.

Patrick’s playlist was full of road trip singalong classics, and for a hundred miles or so, their voices filled the car. But the closer they got to their destination, the more anxious David felt. And Patrick could always tell.

When David didn’t join in on the “ _every now and then I fall apart_ ,” Patrick patted his knee. “David? You OK? Remember we’ve got snacks in the back…”

“It’s not the snacks, but thanks for reminding me.” David reached behind his seat to fumble through a Rose Apothecary tote. “You want something?”

Patrick turned the volume knob down a little. “No, I think my mom will have a big dinner waiting for us. I’d tell you to save your appetite, but I know it won’t be a problem,” he teased.

“Mmm,” David responded, indignant. He held up a box of cookies. “Well, these have ginger, so maybe they’ll settle my stomach.”

“Oh, what’s wrong with your stomach? You’re not still worried about the thing with my dad, are you?”

“Oh, god, I _wasn’t_ , but…” David shoved a cookie in his mouth. “You sure you don’t want one? They have candied ginger pieces. Really good.”

Patrick chuckled softly at his boyfriend’s uncouth snacking. “Nope, I’m good.”

David chewed and swallowed, then looked thoughtful. “So how much do you keep in touch with Rachel?”

“What?! I don’t. Why?”

“Not at all?”

“I hear things, sometimes, but after she showed up before, we talked, and she _finally_ stopped texting me at random, because I’m with _you_ , and—”

David cut him off with a dramatic wave. “Oh, god! No, you misunderstood. I’m not worried about _that_.”

“Then what?”

“Apparently she got engaged. Again.”

“Oh.”

“And they’re having a party this weekend.”

“Oh.” Patrick turned to focus on the road. “OK, but why do _you_ know that?”

“Alexis.”

“And why does _Alexis_ know?”

David sighed. “Instagram.”

“I will never understand you kids and your social media.”

“You’re younger than I am!”

“Yeah, but I’ve got an old soul.”

David smiled warmly and wished he could kiss Patrick, but wasn’t keen to cause an accident. “Uh-huh. That explains why you still have a Facebook. So, that doesn’t concern you, or bother you, or whatever…?”

Patrick considered the news. “Hmm. I think… I think I’m happy for her.”

This satisfied David. “No worrying that we might run into her or anything?”

“I mean, it is a small town, I guess, but not, like, Schitt’s Creek small. There’s more than one bar. And we’ll mostly be spending time with my family.”

“All right. Well. Humor me: what if we _do_ happen to see her, what do you want to do? Hide? Cross the street?”

“You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”

“ _Fine_ , yes, I am. Have you ever known me _not_ to find something to worry about, though?”

“Kind of a defining trait, sure.”

“So walk me through this. Please.”

“OK. On the _very off chance_ we run into Rachel and her apparent fiance, I think… I think we should just say hello.”

“Say _hello_?”

“Yup. Say hello and go from there.”

David grimaced and started to nod. “Sure. OK. That’s… that’s a plan.”

“You gonna be OK?”

“Maybe we can just hang out with your parents.”

“Nope. Not gonna happen. We’ve got plans to meet up with my friends. David, it’ll be fine.”

“Right. Your friends.”

“They’re going to love you.”

“Are they, though?”

“Well. Not as much as I do.” Patrick let a dreamy smile slip, and David beamed.

“You’re a dork.”

“Mm. Don’t make me pull this car over.”

“I wish you would.” David tantalizingly caressed Patrick’s jawline and earlobe.

“We’ll be there soon.”

David groaned. “I can’t do what I want to do to you in front of your parents.”

“Especially not after that text.”

“ _Stop_.”

* * *

“This guest room is surprisingly lovely,” David noted as they got ready for bed. “Remind me to compliment your mother on her taste in linens.”

“I’m pretty sure she just picked it out on Amazon.”

“It’s very crisp and modern. Not what I would have expected.”

“She _may_ have been trying to impress you.”

“Aww!” David placed a hand on his heart.

“I _may_ have helped.”

“That’s less impressive, but I have taught you well.”

“And you probably made her happy with your enthusiasm for her cooking.”

“Listen, you told me you loved your mom’s cooking, but I had _no idea_. Those whipped potatoes? You could fill a bathtub with them and I’d roll around naked.”

“That I’d like to see,” Patrick smirked.

“I’ll bet you would. But um… any idea how well soundproofed the walls are in this house?”

“I don’t. Our old house, sure, but this one…” Patrick’s empty nester parents downsized a few years back, and since their other kids stayed local, they opted for a two-bedroom.

“Mmhmm. So we should keep it down, then. Just in case.” David cringed and joined Patrick under the covers, rolling on his side so Patrick would spoon him. A warm arm snaked around his torso and he sighed contentedly.

“I’m not making any promises, but it was a long drive, and this is quiet enough.” Patrick nuzzled into David’s shoulder and kissed him tenderly. David shivered and yawned. It _had_ been a long day, and the bed was cozy.

Just then they heard a whimper outside the door, followed by Patrick’s mom chiding the dog for bothering them. She must have noticed the faint light under the door, because she knocked. “You boys settling in all right?” she called through the closed door. She wasn’t the type to barge in.

“Doing fine, mom. Just had a long day. Gonna try to get some shut-eye.”

“I love the linens you chose in here, Mrs. Brewer,” David added, maybe a little too loud.

“Ah, thank you!” came her muffled reply. “You two have a good night.” They listened as she shuffled across the hall, the dog’s tags jangling softly.

“Did your dad already go to bed, do you think?” David whispered.

“Mm, he probably passed out in front of the TV and won’t be in for another hour.”

“Fun. We should probably get some sleep, then.”

“You’re _still_ worried about the thing.”

“It just isn’t something I’m _comfortable_ with my boyfriend’s _father_ knowing about me. Or the things I do to his son. Or want to do.”

Patrick slowly dragged his hand down and reached into David’s pajama bottoms. “What about what his son wants to do do _you_?”

David murmured, anxiety vanishing with Patrick’s touch. “I never did get to thank you for packing those snacks.”

“Oh, you want to return the favor?”

“I, um… do, but are we maybe taking the metaphor too far?”

Patrick nibbled at David’s neck and let out a low groan. The vibration and the heat of Patrick’s breath did its work on David, whose skin prickled. “No,” whispered Patrick.

David shifted onto his back and stared up at Patrick. “You’re trying to distract me. It’s working.”

“Good.” Patrick leaned down to kiss David and pinned him in place with an arm firmly on either side. “Because I was beginning to think you were a little ungrateful.”

“ _Never,_ ” David replied, returning the kiss.

* * *

Patrick joined his mom in the morning to make a nice breakfast before his dad had to head to work: A simple frittata with tomatoes from his parents’ garden patch, buttered toast made with homemade bread, and some fresh peaches his mom picked up at the farmers’ market. David was effusive in his praise, and Patrick’s mom lapped it up.

As soon as she left them to get ready for the day, Patrick teased David. “I had no idea you appreciated a home-cooked meal so much.”

David sipped his coffee. “What? It _was_ nice! Really nice, actually.”

“Oh, really? What was your favorite part?”

“Mmm, which part did _you_ make?”

Patrick laughed. “I toasted the bread.”

“What _talent_.”

“No, I helped cut up the vegetables. I’m like mom’s sous chef when I’m home.”

“That’s cute. I once dated the sous chef at Eleven Madison Park, but…” David trailed off when he realized Patrick was raising an eyebrow at him. He really didn’t appreciate David’s tales of past sexual exploits. If David’s being honest, he’s not terribly impressed with them, either. He clicked his tongue. “S-so is that why you don’t cook at home?”

Patrick frowned and considered the question. “No, that’s not… I don’t know why I haven’t cooked for you.” He thought of all the times he’d made breakfast for Rachel, and how she commented on his use of boxed pancake mix. Then he remembered Christmas mornings with his mom’s sticky buns and piles of fluffy scrambled eggs and crispy bacon that were almost too much when he considered how much candy he would eat before breakfast was even ready. He missed that, at least. “Hey, would you like to see the house I grew up in? It’s not too far from where we’re meeting people later.”

“I’d love to see whatever you want to show me, Patrick.”

* * *

“Oh, that’s where the Rose Video was!” Patrick pointed at a sporting goods store as they drove past.

“Huh.”

“Did you spend much time in any Rose Video stores?”

“I didn’t. Our private collection was… vast, and we got a lot of screeners.”

Patrick chuckled. “I’m trying to imagine your home theater setup.”

“My parents used it more than I did, but _yeah_ , it was nice.”

The car shuddered to a halt at a red light. “I know you’ve said we probably crossed paths at the right time, but I wish I could’ve seen you then.” The light changed and the car accelerated. “Or at least seen your _house_.”

David smirked. “Alas. Any other Patrick memories around here?”

“Oh, yeah. You’re getting the full tour.”

Patrick drove through town, pointing out the diner where he hung out after hosting open mics, the coffee shop that let a bunch of high schoolers run an open mic, the accounting office he interned at his first summer home from college, the church his family attended only on major holidays or when his deeply religious grandparents visited, the _only_ good Chinese restaurant in town—which is the site, he neglected to mention, of his first official date with Rachel… The changing geography of his hometown left him brimming with memories and stories; some he was excited to share with David; others, less so.

The car made a left turn onto a residential street as Patrick navigated to his childhood home. They pulled up across the street, and he put the car in park.

“There it is. Looks like they pulled out some of the shrubs…”

David stared out the window at this well-kept, modest, ranch-style house, in a neighborhood full of similar—but not cookie-cutter—homes. Kids rode their bikes on this street. Dads mowed lawns. People waved good morning to their neighbors when they stepped out to grab the morning paper, he presumed. It wasn’t anything he’d find in the pages of Dwell, but it made him smile, anyway, just thinking about his sweet, _normal_ boyfriend growing up in this wildly unfamiliar setting. “It’s lovely,” he said, beaming at Patrick.

Patrick opened his mouth to point out where his room was when a car pulled into the driveway. Its driver got out and walked up to the door, keys dangling from their hand. David nudged Patrick urgently. “We should see if they’ll let us look inside!”

“What? No. That’d be too weird.”

“Isn’t that a thing people _do_ , though? ‘Hi, I grew up here, I just wanted to visit the ol’ stomping grounds’?”

“I think you watched too many movies, David.”

David opened the passenger door and stood up. The street was quiet, and the person noticed the unfamiliar car, and stopped before going inside. “Hi! Hello!” David waved and plastered on a big smile, the one he used to charm suppliers.

“Can I help you?”

“It’s just, so, my boyfriend used to live in your house!”

That prompted Patrick to get out of the car. He immediately began apologizing for David’s intrusion. “We’ll be on our way,” he said, his cheeks flushed.

“What’s your name? I remember the couple who sold the house, but…”

“Brewer. My parents. Yeah. I moved away.”

“That’s right. Real nice folks. Why don’t you come in? If you don’t mind a little mess…”

Patrick looked over at David, who shot him a sideways grin. “That’s very generous of you. I’d love to. Just for a minute.”

They crossed the street and met the new homeowner on the porch. “The place looks great. Better than I remember,” Patrick said, looking around the front yard.

“Well, my wife’s the real gardener here, but I’ll pass along the compliment. Come on in.”

Patrick stepped inside as the new homeowner held the door open for them. Different furniture and decor, of course. Same floors. A new accent wall. Updated light fixtures. But still, an abiding sense of home, despite the changes. “Do you mind if I look at my old room? Then we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Sure, be my guest. Take your time. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Patrick led David by the hand down a hall—no longer lined with Brewer family photos, but he could see them in his memory—and pushed open an unassuming bedroom door. It was set up like a guest room/office space, with soothing botanical prints on the wall and not much color. He could see a nick on the closet door from when he kicked it with a cleat after a particularly maddening loss sometime in middle school, but a fresh coat of paint had hidden any other sign that a teenage boy once called this home. He stood there quietly, just soaking it in.

“I guess you snuck out through that window sometimes, huh?” David asked, watching him.

“A few times. But my folks weren’t strict. They usually knew what I was up to.”

David laughed. “Such a good kid.”

“Hah. You don’t know the half of it.”

“But I’d _like_ to…” David slid an arm around Patrick’s waist.

“We should probably go. We’re supposed to meet people soon, and I feel weird being here.”

“I’m glad I got to see it.”

“Me too.”

They strolled back down the hall and poked their heads in the kitchen long enough to thank the homeowner, and made a gracious exit.

* * *

Patrick’s friends had suggested meeting up at a relatively new spot in the slowly revitalizing downtown, the kind of place with intriguing signature cocktails (well, intriguing to someone) and a curated collection of vintage arcade games. It was only mid-afternoon, but a taco truck had set up shop outside, so when David and Patrick arrived early, they ordered an array of specialties and camped out at a folding table in the parking lot.

By the time Patrick’s friends started arriving, David had put away a good six tacos, which Patrick naturally teased him about.

“I expect we’ll be doing a lot of drinking tonight, and it’s good to put down a base layer,” David attempted to justify, gesturing around his belly.

“Right. Right. Just hopefully not _too_ much drinking.”

“I’m on my best behavior,” David whispered conspiratorially as they stood up to meet Patrick’s friends.

They were, as advertised, a perfectly nice group. David felt himself on the outs, despite _everyone’s_ best attempts to include him. After spending just a day in Patrick’s world, he remembered just how different his own upbringing had been. It wasn’t that he regretted it—mostly—or thought somehow Patrick would’ve _found him_ sooner, or anything like that, but it did mean he didn’t readily insert himself in their conversations and well-worn relationships. He didn’t feel exactly insecure, and he wanted Patrick to enjoy this limited time with old friends without feeling like he needed to hold David up, but…

David didn’t have a conclusion to that thought, so while the guys gathered for a mini Skee-ball tournament, he excused himself to get a fresh drink.

Seated at the bar, he glanced over at Patrick and his friends, who looked like they were having a great time. He wondered how much Patrick missed having this kind of social life in Schitt’s Creek. David frowned and rapped his knuckles on the bar. It was a nice, solid slab of wood, a lovely mix of rustic and modern—something he himself might’ve chosen if he’d opened a bar. Which he wouldn’t. He perused the specialty cocktail menu and smirked at the passing notion of tending bar. _It would be Patrick_ , he thought. _I’d be in charge of ambiance and managing the clientele_. He didn’t notice the woman walking up to the bar.

“Vodka tonic?” said the woman, standing a few seats away. David glanced up and gasped.

The bartender nodded and got to work on her drink, and she looked his direction. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh, hi… Rachel?”

“…David?”

David nodded dramatically, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Yes. Hi. Long, uh, long time.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Yeah.”

“Um, where’s Patrick?”

David nodded in the direction of the Skee-ball machines. “I’m just getting a drink.”

“Ah.”

“So, um… I hear congratulations are in order?”

“What? Oh. Um. How did you…?”

“Alexis showed me your Instagram before we left.”

“Oh.”

“So…”

“Yeah. This is awkward.”

David nodded enthusiastically and agreed with a slight whine, “It is.”

“Well, I’m waiting for my fiance, so…” The bartender slid Rachel’s vodka tonic across the bar with slight flourish, and she nodded her thanks.

“And I’m trying not to be weird around Pa– uhh, Patrick’s friends.”

“I’m sure you’re not. Those are nice guys.”

“They are. I’m just…” David looked at her seriously for possibly the first time. Rachel got a better sense of those expressive brows and deep brown eyes that her ex fell for, and she could get it. In a way.

“Sure. I can see that,” Rachel said, relieving him of the need to explain himself. She hadn’t spent long with any of the Roses, but even a little bit was enough to vaguely understand. _One of these things is not like the others_. _And yet, that’s the one that belongs_.

They sat in silence for a minute while Rachel sipped and David studied the menu. He really needed a drink now, but suddenly all the text was out of focus. He gave up and ordered a martini.

“So, how long are you two in town for?”

“Just the weekend. Who’s the fiance?”

“Guy I knew in college. Got reacquainted after… you know. Patrick doesn’t know him.”

“Cool. Cool.”

“This your first visit to town?”

“Yeah. It’s nice,” David looked around approvingly.

“I mean, it’s no Schitt’s Creek,” Rachel joked.

“Mm, no, that it is not.” Just then his martini appeared. He held it up to her. “Cheers to that.”

“Cheers,” she replied, clinking her glass against his.

They drank and let silence crowd the space between them.

“So, how’s Patrick doing?” Rachel asked when the glasses were half-empty.

“Great. He’s great.” David got a little misty and let his sideways smile creep across his face.

Rachel took a fortifying swig. “Great. I’m glad he’s happy.”

“And you?” David asked, tapping a nervous finger on the bar.

“Awkward encounters with my ex’s new boyfriend aside, I’m also great.”

“Well, I’m glad we had this opportunity to chat.”

“Mmm.” Rachel nodded and pulled out her phone to check a notification. “Dammit, he’s running late.”

“Bummer.” David turned over his phone and tried to distract himself with Instagram. Alexis had been posting obnoxious #goals selfies again, but they were preferable to the posts tagged #girlboss with an inspirational quote. He kept scrolling.

“Oooohh,” he said aloud without meaning to. Claire Saffitz had posted a delicious-looking photo of a rustic fruit tart.

“What is it?”

David showed her the screen. Rachel gasped. “I love her!”

“Right? I don’t even cook, but I watch all her videos.”

“Did you see the one where she made Cheetos?”

“Of _course_. And the Ferrero Rocher looked _amazing_.”

“Ohh, my god, I love those.”

“Surprisingly, never actually eaten a Ferrero Rocher, but after watching her make them, I want to.”

“Really? Patrick used to give them to me when…” she trailed off.

David smiled. “It’s OK. I’m sorry.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “We don’t have to talk about him. But if you want to, it’s fine.”

Rachel looked him in the eyes. “I guess that isn’t the gift of choice for someone like you.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! You’re just… different.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He took another sip.

“David! I was wondering where you went.” Patrick ambled over, apparently not noticing who David was talking to.

“Hey, Patrick.”

He was taken aback. “R- Rachel. Um, hi.”

“Hey. Just getting to know your boyfriend.”

“Oh, um, great. That’s great.” He looked around nervously. “Is your fiance here?”

She grinned, a little smugly. “You follow my Insta, too?”

“Um…”

David and Rachel exchanged amused looks. “Patrick, you don’t even follow _me_ on Insta,” David mocked.

“I don’t have an Instagram,” Patrick muttered, flustered.

The other two erupted with laughter. “Good to know some things never change, Patrick,” Rachel teased.

“Yeah. But only _some_ things.” David raised his almost empty glass to Rachel again.

“I guess I’ll drink to that.” They finished their drinks as Patrick looked on, confused.

“Anyway, David, I swear I heard you brag once about how good you are at pinball, and they’ve got a couple machines over there…”

“Mm, I don’t know about ‘bragged,’ I just spent a little too much time with Paul Reubens in my early 20s, so.”

“You know _Pee-Wee Herman_?” screeched an incredulous and slightly tipsy Rachel.

“Um…”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Don’t get him started. Rachel, it’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too. I guess.”

“I deserve that. Anyway, I’m glad you’re happy. Right?”

“Yes. I’m happy.”

“Good.”

David grinned and excused himself to follow Patrick back to the pinball machines.

* * *

David took a surprising interest in helping Patrick’s mom in the kitchen the next morning, and Patrick was left out. Amused, he settled in on the porch near his father and picked up a section of newspaper. They flipped pages in silence for a bit before his dad spoke.

“It’s good to have you home, son.”

“It’s good to be home. Well, ish,” he said with a smile, gesturing around the house.

His dad nodded. “I hope that’s all right.”

“No, of course. Actually, I wanted to show David our old house yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Seemed like a thing to do. We pulled up at the same time as the new owner. Actually, David flagged them down and got them to invite us in to look around for a minute.”

“Huh. How was that?”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Weird. But nice. It’s different. The yard looks beautiful.”

“I remember; the woman mentioned she was a gardener.”

“It was _familiar_ , but not. I guess it’s true what they say, you can’t go home again…”

Patrick’s father set down his paper and peered over the rim of his glasses. “I don’t think that’s entirely true. Homes, like people, change. You didn’t have to _go_ home, son.”

Patrick was humbled by his father’s words, or what he thought they implied, but he didn’t know how to respond. His mouth went slack and he blinked.

“That David is a good one, Patrick. I know you don’t think I believe that, but I do.”

“I wasn’t sure, dad,” he said quietly.

“Didn’t expect that from your old man, did you?” He picked up the paper again and sighed. “And, obviously, your mother loves him.”

Patrick chuckled. “Speaking of, I wonder what the hell they’re doing in there.”

“Oh, she’s probably got the photo albums out by now.”

“I better get in there.”

“Save yourself, son. And breakfast.”

* * *

The rest of the weekend went by quickly. David managed to charm the rest of Patrick’s relatives at family dinner—even some of the kids. Well, kind of. Some of them found his barely-concealed derision and confusion about how to _act_ around children very funny, which Patrick encouraged. Seeing David in awkward, unfamiliar settings was always an entertaining and educational experiment, but Patrick didn’t torture him too long.

He’d wanted to show off his beautiful, expressive, worldly boyfriend to his favorite cousins, and he succeeded. By the end of Sunday night, they’d convinced a few folks to come visit Schitt’s Creek—David even talked up the motel. One cousin and their partner invited them to join them at a cabin that was conveniently somewhere between the two towns, which Patrick could tell David was only _politely_ agreeing to. (He’d have to convince him later. It was a really nice cabin, and a perfect opportunity to pull out some of David’s lesser-used sweaters.)

They made their goodbyes with Patrick’s family over a too-long breakfast—this time, both Patrick and David helped in the kitchen, with Patrick’s mom attempting to show David the finesse required to griddle a perfect crepe—and by the time they got on the road, they realized they wouldn’t make it back to Schitt’s Creek until late. Too late.

David was taking a turn behind the wheel when Patrick offered to look for a good place to stop off for the night. “We can leave early and still get back in time to open the store.”

“I’d be amenable to that idea, provided you’re willing to drive that last little bit.”

“Sure, of course, as long as you don’t keep me up too late.”

David gave him _a look_ that confirmed that he both had plans and he knew Patrick would be 100% on board with those plans.

“Yep. Looking now…” Patrick curled over his phone, typing and scrolling intently. “Got it. Found a place about 3 hours from home.”

“This going to be a _very_ long drive.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for highway patrol if you want to get the lead out.”

David smirked and pressed on the accelerator.

They stopped for a quick picnic lunch—Patrick’s mom sent them off with ample leftovers—and switched seats for the rest of the drive. It was dusk by the time they got to the lodging Patrick found—charming little cottages just off the highway, nestled in a grove of evergreens, string lights providing romantic nighttime ambiance. There were only a few other guests, so they had a lot of privacy. Even more than they had at home, since there were no shared walls. They were tired, but not too tired to take advantage of that.

Especially not after a weekend at Patrick’s parents home, where David was too anxious that they might be overheard. There were some unmet needs.

As soon as they checked in and locked the door behind them, Patrick started in on his demands.

“Take that fucking sweater off,” he purred, leaning back against the door. David dropped his bag and wordlessly complied. Patrick sauntered over, appreciated David’s bare upper body with warm hands, and confidently freed David from his pants and briefs. He dropped to his knees, grateful for the cozy rug, and got to work.

* * *

They managed about 6 hours of sleep—very tired, relieved, satisfying sleep—but 7 a.m. still rolled around all too soon. While Patrick checked them out, David snagged pastries and caffeinated beverages from the continental breakfast bar. David snoozed most of the drive home, but they made it back in time to open the store at its posted time.

“Mmm, espresso machine, how I missed you!” David cooed in the back room. He inhaled deeply, appreciating the aroma of his freshly pulled shot. “Patrick, do you want one?” he called.

Patrick came through the curtain to respond. “Yeah, I think so. Tea is not gonna be enough to get me through the day. Also, Mrs. Chatterjee stopped by with questions about putting together some bridal party gift baskets; I told her you’d call her.”

“Mm.” David slurped, still sleepy.

Just then, they heard the distinctive voice of Moira Rose. “Hello?”

“I’ll talk to your mother. You make me a coffee. _Strong_.” He pulled the curtain shut behind him as he slipped out front.

“Ah! Patrick, dear. How was your weekend getaway?”

Patrick was astonished she remembered, but he hid it well. Or he just _always_ had a bemused look one his face when interacting with Mrs. Rose, so it was indistinguishable. “We had a great time. Just got back this morning, actually.”

“That explains my son’s absence at the cafe this morning.”

“Oh, sorry about that. I’m sure he would’ve texted, but I was letting him sleep.”

“That’s very kind of you, but there’s nothing to apologize for. It wouldn’t have spared me the indignity of unexpected discourse with that throttlebottom, Bob,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Going on and on about some pet project or another he’s been pushing at council. I’ll spare you the details.”

David emerged from the back with Patrick’s coffee, still steaming. “Mom, hi. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, David, just checking in with your beloved.” Both men blushed slightly at the reference. “Will you be joining your father and I tonight for dinner?”

“Umm…” David eyed Patrick, who offered a slight shrug as he sipped. “Yeah, we’ll be there. Can I help you with anything else, or…”

Moira pulled a bottle of wine off a shelf and scrutinized the label before tucking it under her arm. “No, just this.”

“That’s a $43 bottle of wine.”

“Plus tax,” Patrick chimed in.

David held a hand out. Moira gave him a disapproving look, but gave it back. “Very well.”

After she left, the store was empty and quiet for a while. Patrick finished his coffee and appreciated the surge of alertness, which he used to catch up on some bookkeeping while David replenished stock.

After a while, Patrick got distracted thinking about the vast canyon of difference between his parents and David’s and their respective upbringings, and how strange and miraculous it was they ever found common ground. He’d known the Roses for a few years now, but he was still baffled by Mrs. Rose just as often as he found her charming. And after seeing David “manage” her on several occasions, he couldn’t imagine doing the same for his mom. It was just normal for David and Alexis, though, normal to have a literal drama queen for a parent. He wondered if David thought it just as odd that he grew up helping his mom in the kitchen.

“Hey, I never asked you, what did you talk about with my mom other morning?”

“Oh, you know. She showed me how to make pancakes— _shockingly_ easy? And told me stories about you.”

“Anything good?”

“Mm, a few things. Just gonna keep ‘em, you know. For later. When I need them.”

_Shit. She told him the_ good _stories_ . “Oh, I can’t imagine there was anything _that_ bad…”

“Can’t you?” David smirked. “And why didn’t you tell me _you_ usually made the pancakes?”

“I don’t know. Just humble, I guess.” Patrick’s attempt at an _aw, shucks_ reply didn’t land.

“Right. Well, now that I know, I’ll be expecting it.”

“Didn’t you just tell me my mom taught _you_ how to make pancakes? And that it’s ‘shockingly easy’? I think _I’m_ the one with expectations, now.”

“I’ll consider it, but I need to know I can call on your expertise.”

_Did David seriously just agree to cook pancakes for breakfast?_ “My pancake mastery is at your disposal any time.”

“Maybe this weekend.”

_Maybe every weekend_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Find me on tumblr @yerbamansa.


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